


Can You Come a Little Closer?

by elmstreetkid



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James, Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Femdom, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Healthy Relationships, No abuse, if EL James was actually a good writer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elmstreetkid/pseuds/elmstreetkid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literature student Anastasia Steele is initially irritated at being roped into filling in for her sick roommate Kate in an interview with a CEO, but the enigmatic Christiana Grey is different than any woman Anastasia's ever met, and the sparks that fly during that interview lead to things Ana's never felt before, while Christiana, on the other hand, wants to make Ana feel more than just sparks. Basically 50 Shades of Grey except about lesbians, with healthy relationships and proper and safe BDSM and good writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Come a Little Closer?

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Stephenie Meyer's latest shenanigans and initially a shitpost exclusive to my tumblr. If this goes well I'll do the whole book. I'd like to thank EL James for motivating me to do this, because she blocked me on twitter for asking why she thinks abuse is romantic.

I scowl with frustration as I look in the mirror. Damn my hair- it just won’t behave- and damn Katherine Kavanagh for subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my finals next week, but instead I’m here, trying to brush my hair into submission. Scolding myself for sleeping with it wet, I give one more try at taming it with the brush, rolling my eyes in exasperation. I gaze at myself in the mirror, your typical all-American girl: peachy skin, dark brown hair, and wide blue eyes, too wide for my face. I give up, resigning myself to yanking this mess back into a ponytail and hoping I look semi-presentable. 

Just my luck that Kate, my roommate, has chosen today of all days to succumb to the flu. She arranged to do an interview with some hot-shot tycoon for the school newspaper, but since she can’t go now she finagled me into doing it for her, and I may be feeling more than a little bitter about this. I have exams to study for, an essay to finish, and I have a shift at work this afternoon, but no, I’ve got to drive a hundred and sixty-five miles to downtown Seattle to meet the enigmatic CEO of Grey Enterprises. She’s apparently an exceptional entrepreneur and a benefactor to our school, so her time is extraordinarily precious, and frankly I’m surprised she agreed to give an interview to the school paper. A real coup, Kate called it. Damn her and her extracurricular activities. 

As soon as I exit my bedroom and head to the living room, I see Kate huddled up on the couch. “Ana, I’m sorry. It took me nine months to get this interview. By the time I can schedule another, we’d have graduated. I’m the editor, I can’t blow this off.” Kate begs me in her rasping, sore throat voice. She looks so sickly, her normally bright green eyes red-rimmed and dull, her strawberry blonde hair tied back in a limp knot behind her head. Poor thing. She looks so pitiful, I can’t help but feel sympathy for her. Internally, I berate myself for being a passive-aggressive ass about this. 

“It’s alright, Kate. I’ll go. Now you get on back to bed, you need your rest. You want me to get you some Tylenol? Nyquil, maybe?” 

“Nyquil, please.” She sniffs, pushing a tote bag in my direction. “Take these, too. It’s my questions for the interview and recorder. Just push play, and I’ll transcribe her answers later. All you have to do is ask her the questions.” 

As I’m pulling the bottle of medicine off the shelf, I feel a familiar pang of anxiety in my stomach. I try, and fail, to suppress it. “I know nothing about her.” I mumble, handing the Nyquil to Kate. 

“That’s why you’re asking the questions, Ana. Now go, it’s a long drive. You can’t be late.” 

…

The roads are clear as I set off from Vancouver, WA towards Portland and the I-5. I have to be in Seattle by two this afternoon and fortunately, Kate’s lent me her sporty Mercedes CLK for the drive. I’m not sure my rickety old VW Beetle, who I’ve affectionately named “Wanda”, would make the journey in time. Oh, but the Mercedes is a fun drive, and the miles just seems to slip away behind the wheel. 

My destination is the headquarters of Ms. Grey’s global enterprise. It’s a huge twenty-story office building, all curved glass and steel, an architect’s utilitarian fantasy, with “Grey House” written discreetly in steel over the glass front doors. It’s a quarter to two when I arrive, thanking every god there is that I’m not late as I walk into the enormous- and intimidating- glass, steel, and white sandstone lobby. 

Behind the desk, a very attractive young woman smiles pleasantly at me. She’s wearing a sharp charcoal suit jacket and white shirt, and her platinum hair is pulled back in a prim and tidy bun. She looks immaculate. 

“I’m here to see Ms. Grey. Anastasia Steel for Katherine Kavanagh.” 

“Excuse me one moment, Miss Steele.” She flashes me a wider smile as I stand before her, self-conscious. I wish I’d borrowed one of Kate’s formal blazers or a dress or something. I wore my nicest skirt, a blue sweater over a white blouse, and knit tights under sensible, brown knee-length boots. I don’t dress up often, and for me, this is smart. I tuck a loose strange of hair behind my ear and pretend that I’m not uncomfortable. 

“Miss Kavanagh is expected. Please sign here, Miss Steele. You’ll want the elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” She smiles kindly at me, as though she’s trying to comfort me as I sign in. She hands me a pass that has VISITOR stamped on the front and I can’t help my smirk. It must be pretty obvious that I’m visiting, I don’t fit in at all. Thanking her, I walk over to the bank of elevators past the two security guards and with a deep breath, I step in. 

The elevator whisks me up to the twentieth floor and when the doors slide open, I’m in another large lobby, again all glass and steel and stone. I’m once again greeted by another young, blonde receptionist, who rises to greet me. 

“Miss Steele, could you wait here, please?” She gestures to a cluster of white leather chairs. 

Behind the waiting area is a spacious glass-walled meeting room, containing a spacious dark wood table and at least twenty matching chairs around it. Beyond that, there’s a floor-to-ceiling window with a view of the Seattle skyline. It’s stunning, and momentarily I’m paralyzed by the view. I sit down, fish Kate’s questions from my bag and fidget while I flip through them. I’ve never been comfortable with one-on-one interviews, preferring group discussions where I can sit inconspicuously in the back of the room. Anxiety settles back in my stomach like a weight, and I’d give anything to be back home again. Get a grip, Steele. 

Another elegant, flawlessly dressed blonde comes out of a large door to the right. What is it with all the immaculate blondes? Taking a deep breath, I stand up. 

“Miss Steele?” she asks, flashing a polite smile. 

I clear my throat and croak out a “yes”, trying my best to sound confident. 

“Ms. Grey will see you in a moment. May I take your jacket?

“Oh, please.” I shift out of my navy raincoat, and pass it to her. 

“Would you like a refreshment? Coffee, tea, water?” 

“Oh, a glass of water, please.” 

She turns to the blonde behind the desk. “Olivia, would you please get Miss Steele a glass of water?” Olivia nods, scooting up from her seat to walk to a door on the other side of the foyer, returning moments later with a glass of ice water.

“Here you are, Miss Steele.” 

“Thank you.” 

She smiles before returning to the desk, while the other blonde turns her attention back to me.

“Please be seated. Ms. Grey will be another five minutes.” 

Her heels click on the sandstone floor as she returns to her desk, continuing on with her work. Perhaps Ms. Grey insists on all her employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal when the office door opens and a tall, attractive, and elegantly dressed African-American man with short dreads exists. I have definitely worn the wrong clothes. 

He turns, calls back through the door. “Golf. This week, Grey.” 

I don’t hear the reply. He turns, sees me, and smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. Olivia’s back up, and has called the elevator for him.

“Good afternoon, ladies.” He says as he departs through the sliding door. 

“Ms. Grey will see you know, Miss Steele. Do go through.” Blonde Two says. I stand, shaking while I gather up my things, and I make my way to the partially open door. 

I peek my head through the door, nervous, and I’m greeted by a surprisingly young woman. Holy shit is she young. 

“Miss Kavanagh.” She extends a hand to me, fingers long and nails cut short. “I’m Christiana Grey. Please have a seat.” 

She’s so young and attractive. Very, very attractive. Butterflies, I’m guessing more self-consciousness, flutter in my belly. She’s tall, dressed in a tailored grey dress with a white blazer over it, accented by a delicate silver necklace. Her copper hair falls in loose waves to her shoulders, and her grey eyes shine under expertly applied black eyeliner. It takes me a moment to find my voice. 

“Um, actually-” I stumbled over my words. If she’s over thirty, then I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a daze, I place my hand in hers and we shake. Our fingers touch, and I feel exhilarated, an odd shiver running through me. I withdraw my hand, hasty and embarrassed. Must have been static. 

“Miss Kavanagh is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Ms. Grey.” 

“And you are?” Her voice is warm, polite and accommodating, and she looks mildly interested. 

“I’m Anastasia Steele. I’m studying English Literature with Kate, er, Miss Kavanagh at Washington State.” 

“I see.” She waves me toward a white L-shaped couch, similar to the ones in the lobby. 

Her office is too big for just one woman. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, there’s a huge modern desk, dark wood, big enough for six people to comfortable eat around. Everything else is white- ceilings, floors, and walls, besides the wall by the door where there’s a mosaic of small, exquisite paintings. Displayed together, they’re breathtaking. 

“A local artist. Trouton,” says Grey, when she catches my gaze. 

“They’re lovely. Extraordinary,” I murmur, distracted by both her and the paintings. She cocks her head to the side and regards me intently. 

“I agree, Miss Steele,” she replies. Her voice is soft, and for some reason I find myself blushing. 

Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office is cold, clean, and clinical. I wonder if it reflects the personality of the woman who sits gracefully in the chair opposite me, poised with crossed legs. I shake my head, confused by the direction of my thoughts, and retrieve Kate’s questions from my bag. I set up the recorder, fumbling and dropping it twice on the coffee table in front of me. Ms. Grey says nothing, waiting patiently as I become embarrassed and flustered. When I look up at her, she’s watching me, one hand relaxed in her lap and the other cupping her chin, nimble index finger pressed against her lips. I think she’s trying to suppress a smile. 

“Sorry,” I stutter. “I’m not used to this.” 

“It’s quite alright. Take all the time you need, Miss Steele,” she replies. 

“Did Miss Kavanagh explain what the interview was for?” 

“She did. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper. Fitting, since I’ll be awarding the degrees at this year’s ceremony.” 

This is news to me, and for a second I’m preoccupied by the thought that someone not much older than me, maybe six years, is going to present me with my degree. I manage to drag my wayward attention back to the task at hand. 

“Right,” I swallow nervously. “Ready to begin, Ms. Grey?” 

“After you, Miss Steele.” She’s smiling at me, polite as any of her secretaries but somehow warmer, and I can feel blush pooling back under my cheeks. I sit up and square my shoulders, a futile attempt at looking taller and more professional. I clear my throat and hit the start button on the recorder. 

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?” I glace up at her, still smiling. 

“Business is all about people, Miss Steele, and I’m very good with people. I’m good at reading them, keeping my cool around them, and inspiring them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well.” She shifts, uncrossing her legs and recrossing them again. “My belief is to achieve success in any venture, one has to have absolute knowledge of it, know it inside and out, forwards and backwards, every little detail. I work very, very hard to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts, and I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good, solid idea and good people. The bottom line is, it’s always down to good people.” 

“Maybe you’re just lucky.” This one isn’t on Kate’s list, but she’s so confident, and I want to impress. I hope it didn’t come off as rude, and my fears are subdued when she laughs. 

“Maybe I am. It seems like the harder I work, the more luck I have. But really, it’s just about having the right people on your team, and directing them accordingly. I think it was Harvey Firestone who said ‘the growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.’”

“Doesn’t having that much control over things intimidate you?” 

“Oh, I’m rarely intimidated, Miss Steele. I’m used to exercising control over most aspects of my life, and my business is one of them.” There’s no trace of humor in her voice, her smile. She holds my gaze steady and impassive and my pulse quickens. Why does she have such an unnerving effect on me? Is it the fact that she’s the polar opposite of me? Gorgeous and confident, and she knows it too. 

“Besides, if you can assure yourself that you’re fit for the job, power is something one can be quite comfortable with.” 

“Do you feel that your fit for the job? Are you comfortable with the power?” 

“I employ over forty thousand people, Miss Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility. Power, if you will. It’s taxing, at times, but I enjoy what I do, and personally I feel I’m quite good at it. So yes, to both of your questions.” 

“Do you have any interests outside your work?” 

“I have varied interests, Miss Steele. I enjoy physical pursuits. Exercise. Sports. That sort of thing.” I’m confused once more, warm under the collar by her gaze. I glance back at Kate’s questions, desperate to break eye contact. 

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?” I ask. 

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work. What can I say?” 

“That sounds like your heart talking rather than logic and facts.” 

She perks up, staring approvingly at me. 

“Possibly. I’ve been told I can’t seem to keep my heart under control.” 

“Says who?” 

“People who know me well.” 

The temperature in the room is rising, or maybe it’s just me. I want this interview to be over. I glance down at Kate’s questions, and thankfully not many are left. 

“Have you ever had to sacrifice your personal life for your work? Your family life?” 

“Not really. I’m close with my immediate family. My brother, sister, two loving parents. Very close-knit.” 

“Are you married, Ms. Grey?” 

She inhales sharply and I cringe. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that. Why does Kate have it on here anyway? 

“No, Anastasia. I’m not.” She looks away, for the first time since I’ve met her. I can’t read her expression. 

“I’m sorry. It’s, um, it’s written here…” She said my name. “Anastasia” not “Miss Steele”. My cheeks are heating up again. 

She raises an eyebrow. “These aren’t your own questions?” 

“Oh, no. Miss Kavanagh complied them.” 

“Are you her colleague on the student paper?” 

“No, she’s my roommate. She’s sick so I got volunteered for this.” Her chin is in her hands, and she’s quiet. Why am I embarrassed?

“I see. That explains a great deal.” 

There’s a knock at the door, and Blonde 2 enters. 

“Ms. Grey, forgive me for interrupting but your next meeting is in two minutes.” 

“Would you please cancel the meeting, Andrea? I’m afraid we’re not done here.” 

“Very well, Ms. Grey.” She responds, then exits. Ms. Grey turns her attention back to me. 

“Where were we, Miss Steele?” 

So we’re back to Miss Steele now?

“Please don’t let me keep you from anything.” 

“You’re not. Actually, I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” Her grey eyes are alight with curiosity. Shit. Where’s she going with this?

“There’s not much to know,” I say, my face uncomfortably warm. 

“What are you plans after you graduate?” 

I shrug. I actually haven’t thought beyond my finals. “I don’t really have any plans, Ms. Grey. Not yet. I just need to get through my final exams.” 

“We run an excellent internship program here.” I raise my eyebrows. Is she offering me a job?” 

“Oh. I’ll keep that in mind. Though, I’m not sure I’d fit in here.” Fuck. Why did I say that?

“What makes you say that?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I’m not professional, not composed, not blonde. 

“Not to me,” she says, and I feel my heart skip a beat. I tear my eyes away from hers and stare down at my knotted fingers. I can’t do this anymore. I lean forward to retrieve the recorder. 

“Thank you for the interview, Ms. Grey, but I have to go now.” 

“Of course.” She glances over to the window, rain pattering against the glass. “Drive carefully. Did you get everything you need?” 

“Yes ma’am.” I reply, packing up my tote. Her eyes narrow. 

“Thank you for the interview, Ms. Grey.” 

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” she responds, polite as ever. “Until we meet again, Miss Steele.” She holds out her hand as I rise from my seat. 

When will we ever meet again? I shake her hand once more, and again there’s an odd current between us. It must be my nerves. 

She walks ahead of me, and opens her door for me and to my surprise, she follows me out. Andrea and Olivia both look up as we exit, equally surprised. 

“Did you have a coat?” Grey asks.

Olivia stands and retrieves my jacket, which Grey takes from her before she can hand it to me. She holds it up and, feeling absurdly self-conscious, I shrug it on. Grey places her hands for a moment on my shoulders and I freeze at the contact. If she notices, she gives nothing away. She summons the elevator and we stand waiting, and I feel painfully awkward in a way I can’t describe. I really need to get out of here. When I’m in the elevator, I turn to look at her and she’s leaning against the doorway with one hand on the wall, looking effortlessly gorgeous and gazing at me. 

“Anastasia,” she says as a farewell. 

“Christiana,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.


End file.
